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I smile at Avery. She has her hair loose today. Paired with the tight shirt and cute jean skirt it would be easy to think she’s just a regular college kid. But what the other girls said last night makes me believe nothing about Avery is typical or normal.
“You are too kind. I mean it. I probably would have died if you walked in and saw me drooling. I don’t think I slept so well since…well, forever really.” No use going into the nightmare of my life over coffee.
She blushes an array of reds and casts her eyes to the floor. “I’m always happy to help my new family.”
Family. I don’t know how I feel about the word anymore. The wordsI wishcome to mind, but for the foreseeable future, it’s just going to be my daughter and me once it’s safe. I notice almost everyone here thinks of themselves as one big mix-matched family. Is that true for all motorcycle clubs? Probably not. Or maybe they do? What the hell do I know?
But I do know one thing. Cute little Avery with the lip ring and sweet charm is a submissive. Too bad. But sweet somethings like her get eaten alive in my world. And hers. I can’t stop the thought before it enters my head but I keep it off my tongue.
“Milk, orange juice or…” Riot holds up a half-full pot of bean water.
“Yes, and make it a double if you don’t mind.”
“Comin’ right—”
“All I’m saying is, Pop, is Devil’s cut would look nice in the basement.”
A man looking like Gerard Butler only ten years older and about fifty pounds more muscle stomps into the kitchen with Casanova following. We all turn. Behind him is a woman with an addiction to hair spray and corsets by the looks of it. Bright pink lipstick too.
“It’s not up for us to decide, boy. That’s Ares’ decision.” The older man continues his trek across the kitchen giving no one a second glance. He doesn’t say a word to another soul until he takes a couple of sips of coffee.
“Hi,” I offer and take the cup of coffee Riot pushes into my hands before moving back to Avery’s side.
“Ma’am.”
“Please. Just Asena.”
I get a rough grin, a quick nod and with that, he’s gone with his cup of coffee.
“Don’t let him bother you.”
The older lady who looks to be in her mid-sixties with poofy hair and a corset pulls out a chair next to mine. She smells of cigarette smoke, mints, and flowers. Maybe roses. Or it could be something with hints of lavender and vanilla. Eighties hair, leather pants, spiked stilettos, and a kind smile. She reminds me of a grandmother with a mix of appreciation for different eras.
“I’m Fergie and I think you already know my boy, Casanova, over there. He could use a few slaps in the head now and again. If you feel the urge, go for it.”
A pouty face turns to me when I look in the direction of Casanova. If a six-four man with beefy shoulders and a face made to drop panties could look innocent, he does.
“I’ll remember that.” I toss him a harmless flirty wink that he gobbles up like candy. If Hark had seen the exchange I would no doubt be jerked into his lap and Casanova getting an ear full.
Fergie points a thumb in the direction the man disappeared. “And that was the stubborn boy’s father, Bear. He growls and grunts a lot, but trust me he rarely bites. If you’re around here long enough you’ll catch on quick enough.”
More nicknames, I presume, and duly noted. Don’t piss off Bear. But that growly man-beast doesn’t have to bite. One good open palm from him and whoever was on the receiving end wouldn’t be on their feet for hours. Forget a punch. He’d obliterate anyone in his way.
I take Fergie’s weathered hand in mine when she swings it in front of me.
Soft yet confident. These people watched Hark’s back these past years. I should be thanking them for all they’ve done, but they didn’t do it for me. Besides, once again, I don’t know how much Hark has shared with any of them about our past outside his circle of trust. The way Doc talks, it’s only him, Ares, and maybe Rage. So I keep my mouth shut.
Speaking of, the Russian doctor walks into the kitchen, his smile never present. Like everyone else, he’s working a mean biker look—scuffed boots, dark jeans, a few variations on T-shirts and their cut.
His hair is pulled back into the same braid he’s always worn. It makes him look more intimidating paired with the beard in the same ash blond.
“What the hell is everyone doing in here looking like death has arrived? Someone else get shot?” He heads to the coffee pot and takes the last cup.
Riot raises his mug in salute. “Nah, just talking about putting Devil’s cut in the basement. Making him a shrine or something. I don’t know. Next Casanova will want to make the man a saint.”
Casanova drops his head back and looks like he’s about to lose his shit. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “My God, no one listens. I should have just talked to Prez.”
“I think it’s a great idea. I mean I didn’t know the man, but I can tell you guys loved him a lot.”
